


devil's water

by orphan_account



Category: Fallen - Lauren Kate, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, fallen angel squad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>& she fell as they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. marchosias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based off the fallen series by lauren kate. i don't own anything from either franchise.
> 
> m mostly for swearing, but also violence, some drug/alcohol abuse, and (very) mild sexual content. it's all minor stuff, but i wanted to play it safe.
> 
> i tried to stay true to both the book and the characters. i'm sure i didn't always succeed. feel free to criticize.

* * *

 

_in various descriptions, the demon form of marchosias is said to be that of a wolf with griffin wings and a serpent's tail._

 

* * *

 

"You didn't  _have_ to send me anywhere," Clarke said, arms crossed over her chest. And though her voice lacked its usual conviction - they'd already flown across the country and driven two hours into the heart of Virginia; she doubted anything she had to say could change their minds  - she still felt the need to say it. Keeping quiet felt a whole lot like giving up, and that was unbearable to think about. Unthinkable.

"Honey, we're trying to do what's best for you. Your psychiatrist -"

"My psychiatrist is a dick," Clarke inserted.

"Language," Abby scolded. They both frowned, sighed. Clarke returned her gaze to the window, watching green fly by. So much green. She'd once hoped that at least she could be by the beach, but no, no, that'd be too much like home, and this was all about  _new beginnings_ , according to said-dick psychiatrist. She should've called bullshit, then and there, but her mom had looked so _sad_ , like she was just waiting for Clarke to make everything difficult. Like that was to be  _expected_.

So she nodded, kept her mouth shut. Didn't even protest when Abby shoved a brochure in her lap a few days later, grinning like an idiot. She kept talking about the first step towards getting better, how much she'd be able to heal there. Just clenched her teeth, screamed into her pillow night after night.

Fucking bullshit.

The air was charged with tension, silence lingering in the space between them. She saw Kane's grip on the wheel was tight, the skin taut over his knuckles, and she held back a smile. If anything, making Kane squirm would leave her in a good enough mood to deal with whatever hell awaited her.

A sudden pang of hurt spread hot through her chest, utterly familiar, and she bit hard into the flesh of her bottom lip. Abandoned. That's what she was. Unwanted, dropped off -- left to rot in some backwater reformatory school. This? This wasn't supposed to be her life. She was _supposed_ to leave her junior happy, ready to lounge in the comfort of her senior year. She was supposed to shadow her mom over the summer, take AP Physics online so she could try out debate. Her boyfriend was supposed to take her out on the weekends, and hold her hand, and kiss her when the lights started to dim.

Life had been good for so long, just shy of perfect. Everything had been falling into place.

But April came, and she left it haunted, broken. Unable to even crack a smile. It took months to heal, to - to  _feel_ again, and even when she started to get better, they punished her by doing this. Told her it was all for the better. Here, they'd take care of her, watch over her the way she needed. Her lip curled in a snarl.

"You might like it there, Clarke," Abby interrupted. "The brochure said they had a library, a track. A _pool_ ," and this one had emphasis, like it really mattered whether or not she could practice her breast stroke in hell. "You've always loved swimming," Abby finished, and Clarke could sense the desperation in her voice. Desperate not to leave things so ugly with her only daughter. Desperate to make something right in all of their wrong. Desperate for just a morsel of forgiveness, so that the space Clarke used to occupy wouldn't hurt so much to think about when they left her here. And maybe Clarke wanted that too, sometimes, when it was dark and she was alone, and all she had to think about was the mistakes she made. The pain she'd caused.

But there was too much anger inside, blistering at the seams, pulling her apart. While her mother had spent the last few months falling in love, like they'd buried Dad years and not weeks ago - she'd spent it in agony, utter isolation. Everything was red, burning inside her, and she turned to glare. "Don't act like you're doing me any favors,  _Mom_. You wanted me gone. This is about as far gone as I can get without being dead."

Abby flinched back, away from the venom in Clarke's words. Kane slammed his hand down on the wheel, his head half-turned so he could shout, "Clarke!" She watched a new vein begin to bulge at the side of his neck.

The words tasted good on her tongue, but something stirred in the expanse of her chest. Regret. Longing. She tried her best to ignore it. There was nothing else left to say.

Awkward silence began to flit away as they approached a thin gravel path, happily labeled, "ARKTON ACADEMY TO LEFT." The ride up was bumpy, and she squinted as they approached a large stone wall and an open, moss-covered gate leading inside. Clarke swore she could see barbed wire lined at the top. Kane cleared his throat, and they continued on.

Four large buildings came to view, spread side-by-side and connected only by a cobblestone path. The campus was _huge_. Surprisingly, no students seemed to be milling around at the front, and Clarke frowned, glancing at the sky. Fog had begun to settle around the school, and she could tell a storm was on its way. A fitting omen.

She noticed a large "ORIENTATION" sign hung on the central building, followed by a crudely-drawn arrow pointing left. A quick glance in the direction identified a sagging structure, embellished with a towering cross. Apparently, her first day would be held in church. Even better. 

They rolled to stop halfway between the church and the main building. She was the first out of the car, swinging her duffel bag over her shoulder. Abby and Kane both followed suit, and as they gathered together, Abby reached out to touch Clarke's face, sadness in her eyes. Clarke pulled away, looked elsewhere. They both pretended not to notice.

"Take care of yourself," was all Kane said, a scowl on his face. She said nothing. A beat, and then they were crawling back inside, avoiding her eyes. The next minute they were driving away, rumbling down the path and through the gate. She waited until their car was completely out of sight, not even a blot in the horizon, before steeling herself, inhaling deeply.  _You can do this, Griffin. It's just a school._ _  
_

The first step was the hardest, but after another, and another, and another she was walking on aching legs toward certain doom, and there was not a single lag in her step. But the closer Clarke drew, the more she cringed. The thing was ugly, nearly falling apart at the seams. It stood the tallest out of the four buildings, with a pointed tower reaching high toward grey clouds. Overgrown bushes crept steadily up its walls, and the stained glass near the top of the church was covered in a grime. It looked like a filthy Virgin Mary cradling Jesus, but his body was all muck and sticky sod, so she couldn't be for sure. Not that it mattered much, anyway.

Trying at the doorknob, she found it unlocked, and slowly pushed inside. The wooden door was heavy and creaked with every movement. She winced at the sound, quickly pushed it shut. When Clarke turned back around, she realized she was looking at a gigantic pool area. Really, it was - _huge_. Olympic-sized. The rest of the room was empty, spare a few chairs and the occasional closed door. The smell of chlorine burned in her nostrils, comforting, almost. Shaking her head, she thought,  _There must be some kind of irony in this_.

Muffled voices echoed at her from the back of the room, and she paused only one more second to glance at the pool before walking towards the noise. She found the door half-open, and slipped inside to see a cluster of three students with their backs turned to her. The voice, definitely female, was barking something at them, and Clarke moved behind a girl with a red jacket, trying not to draw attention to herself.

"Look who finally decided to join us _half an hour_ late!" the woman boomed, and Clarke sighed. Plan B, then.

Shifting so that she was in full view of the instructor, Clarke studied her carefully. She was tall, her face long and sharp. Intimidating, probably, to some. She wore gym shorts and a tank top (which sort of rained on the whole _intimidation_ thing), a clipboard in one hand. Her face was screwed up in something of a grimace, lips pursed, and the group all turned to examine the newbie. Clarke swallowed and gave a simple, "Sorry. There was traffic."

"Well, then, how about you come up to the front and introduce yourself? Everyone else did." The woman's voice was pinched, dry, and Clarke's fists tightened at her sides.

"Ah, be nice, Coach. She's new," someone chirped from up front.

"Shut it, Finn. I've heard enough out of you. And that's Coach _Anya_ to you."

Reluctantly, already contemplating the pros and cons of attempting an escape, she walked stiffly to the front, turned to face them. At a glance, she noticed the girl in the red jacket looked incredibly bored, hair pulled up in a ponytail. One guy had his gaze trained on the ground, olive skin pale. The other one, the one who'd spoken up, was leaning against the wall, intensity written all over his face. And when her eyes found his, they were unrelenting,  _alarming_. An impotent need to stare right back overtook her, and she did, took it on as a challenge.

Just as his mouth turned up into something of a smirk, Coach cleared her throat, loudly, and they both blinked, Clarke's eyes darting downward. "Any time," Coach added, and Clarke's jaw tightened.

Decidedly, she cleared her throat and plastered an artificial smile on her face, voice soaked in derision. "Hi. My name's Clarke Griffin. I'm 17, I'm from California, and I am just -  _so_ happy to be here." She thought she saw Ponytail Girl crack a smile.

"Glad to hear it," Coach replied, just as sarcastic, and Clarke figured it to be a dismissal. Watching as she melded back into the group, Coach nodded and continued on. "So, _as_ I was saying before we were interrupted, no cell phones. Period. You get one phone call a week for fifteen minutes."

"What?" the nervous boy squeaked, head jerking up.

"That's right. We have computers in the library, but everything you do is logged and recorded by the staff. You _will_ be punished if we find you using them for anything other than school-related purposes. Furthermore," and she started to pace, eyes darting from one delinquent to the other, "we have cameras monitoring every move you make."

She jabbed a finger at the ceiling, and they all looked to see that there was, in fact, a camera attached to the wall. A small red light pulsed back at them. 

"Those things are installed throughout each building. Trust me when I say, _we're watching_."

"Are there cameras in my dorm, too? Because I'll sue if I find out some guy is jacking off every time I have to change," Ponytail Girl sneered, and Clarke smiled from behind her.

"Don't try me, Reyes. I'll have you spending your first weekend here cleaning up graves in the cemetery," Coach Anya barked. Ponytail Girl just sighed. Coach Anya took the time to pause dramatically before starting a slow pace from right to left. "And here, we have a dress code. Keep it modest, keep it black."

This wasn't news to Clarke. She'd already been happily informed of this on the official Arkton Reformatory School website when her mom was explaining all the "innovative and simple ways they used to help their students!" She'd shoved herself into a black turtleneck before they'd left, both bulgy and unflattering, with matching jeans and sneakers. When Abby wasn't looking, Clarke had also managed to hide a few of her favorite dresses in the bottom of her bag, just to spite her. Clarke doubted there'd actually be an occasion worth wearing them for here.

The other three hadn't seemed to have gotten the message so clearly, and Coach Anya eyed all of them carefully.

Swooping down, she grabbed the handle of a bucket that had been sitting beside her and held it up. "I want any cell phones, weapons, and other hazards in this bucket before you walk out that door. That means  _you_ , Finn. Don't think I won't subject you to a bodycheck."

He scoffed, like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. But considering the setting, Clarke figured the warning wasn't unfounded.

Coach Anya parked herself at the threshold of the door, and they all morphed into a single line, Clarke leading at the rear. With a look of despair, the olive-skinned boy dropped his phone into the bucket. "I - I'm not sure what constitutes as a _hazard_."

Coach sighed and pushed him along.

Next was Finn, who surrendered a box of matches, a lighter, and a spray can. Raven growled and threw a pink Swiss Army knife into the thing, giving Coach one last dirty look before stepping out into the hallway. Clarke almost felt embarrassed that she lacked anything other than her phone to give up, but realized how odd that sounded. Trying to be as crazy as everyone else.

Now, it was her turn. A last glance at her phone revealed two waiting messages. One was from Wells:  _Hey, call me whenever you have a chance. Please. We need to talk_. The other was a simple,  _love you xo_ , from her mother. That was it. Her last contact with the outside world, and it was from the two people she couldn't even stand to think about right now.

Coach Anya cleared her throat, and Clarke looked up, startled from her thoughts. Angry blush threatened to creep up on her cheeks. She reluctantly set her phone into the bucket and readjusted the strap of her bag. As she went to leave, Coach stopped her.

"One last thing. You're in room sixty-four." Anya swiped at Clarke's duffel, throwing it on the ground. "You can pick up your bag and your key in the main lobby after classes. You've got about half an hour until they start."

Coach rifled through her clipboard and shoved another two sheets of paper into Clarke's hands. One was a wrinkled map of the campus, black and white, poorly printed, and the other was clearly marked "SCHEDULE" in bold font. She'd have to look over it later.

"Now get going. I've got places to be," she growled. Clarke was smart enough to heed her warning.

Entering the hallway as she folded her schedule and the map into tiny squares, she saw Ponytail Girl leaning against the wall across from the doorway. She immediately straightened up at the sight of Clarke, granting her a lopsided smile. "Not many people can hold their own around Coach. Consider me impressed." She stuck her hand out, and Clarke met her in the middle, shaking it firmly. "I'm Raven Reyes."

"I'm Clarke, but - you already knew that, I guess."

"Sure did. And just so you know, I am just _so_ glad to be here, too," Raven said, voice light. _  
_

Clarke cracked a smile at that, laughed almost to herself. "I don't really do well with orders."

"Then you and me will get along just fine."

Raven started to walk back the way Clarke had entered, and Clarke followed silently, figuring an express invitation was unneeded. "So, you're not new here?"

"I am. But I know a few of the people here, and they've been  _very_ forthcoming with details. Didn't even believe the place was real until today."

Clarke started to ask how exactly she knew more than _one_ person here, but it was then she noticed Finn at the other side of the pool, slipping through a door she assumed to be the back exit. Somehow, like he could feel her gaze, he turned, dark brown finding crystal blue almost instantly. There was a pause, an intake of breath, and then he winked before gliding through the cracked door. Heat started to creep up the back of her neck, and she was sure the skin was flushed behind ragged golden locks.

Looking back at Raven, who she assumed would be wondering about the sudden standstill in their conversation, she thought she saw a flash of regret in her eyes. They were trained on the place where Finn had just left. It was gone so quickly, though, Clarke couldn't tell if it had even been there in the first place. Raven scowled to herself, shook her head.

"Do you two know each other?" Clarke asked, suddenly curious.

"Unfortunately."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Long story," she replied vaguely, voice tinged with bitterness. Clarke waited a moment before letting it go, putting it away somewhere in her mind. It would be smart to remember later, but - she wasn't going to push it. Everyone was entitled to a secret or two. She knew that better than anyone. 

Raven paused, turned to cock an eyebrow at her. "What'd you think about him?"

"He's... he's --" Clarke started to say, fishing for the words to describe what had happened earlier.

"Hot?" Raven finished, nudging at Clarke's side. She couldn't seem to come up with a viable reply. Raven just chuckled, if somewhat darkly. "I get it. And if that's what you're into, then go for it. All I'm saying is there's plenty other cute fish in the sea that  _don't_ attend a school made for psychopaths."

Clarke got quiet, teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek. Raven was right, of course; chasing after  _anyone_ in this place was a bad idea, especially after Wells. Even though she'd been the one to break it off after the accident, that didn't mean she stopped feeling. She'd thought she'd loved him, once upon a time, but the meaning of it became less and less clear every day.

Clarke's silence was interrupted by a timid, "Uh, hey guys, wait up!"

They turned to see the quiet boy from before, all tall legs and knobby knees, walking towards them, a hand held up half-heartedly. The minute he was close enough, Raven wrapped an arm around his shoulder, rammed her knuckles into the top of his head. "Short Stuff! So glad you could make it to the party."

Eventually, he wiggled out from her grip, and Raven laughed. He twisted around to give Clarke a small smile. "Hi. I'm, uh - Monty. Monty Green. Coach told me it'd be okay if I joined your group, since my student guide isn't here today. Is that - is that cool?"

"Sounds good to me," she said with her own meager smile.

"'Course it's cool, Short Stuff. I have some people I want you to meet, anyway."

* * *

They curved around the back of the central building, which stood tall and steely grey above them. Its chipped brick was endless, only interrupted by the occasional window, and Clarke noticed thick bars installed outside the glass of each. No escaping, then. This place was starting to feel more and more like prison as the day went by.

In the near distance was a beaten path, curved into a sloppy circle and half-overgrown with grass. The track, she assumed. It looked about as she'd imagined it, spare the tattooed couple making out in an especially tall patch of dry brush. Raven didn't seem to notice them, or care, but Monty made a face, moved farther right as to better avoid them.

Raven led them confidently to a sad set of wilting bleachers; its benches were damp, some pooling with water, and covered in miscellaneous pieces of trash. A girl and a boy lounged peacefully in an area that looked mostly dry. Her face was turned to the sky, eyes closed, and Clarke glanced up to see where the sun had just barely begun to peek out from the clouds. Sunlight rained down on the girl like a golden halo, twinkling and shimmering, and Clarke realized just how striking she was. The boy was still under the shadows of the storm, watching the tattooed couple with what seemed like muted disgust. He had dark hair and matching eyes, ankles crossed, and there was something unfathomable and dark in his beauty.

The pair both turned their full attention to the approaching trio, and the girl's piercing green eyes opened to stare right at Clarke. It was an all-seeing gaze, like she was looking right through her -- like every mistake she'd ever made was now bleeding out in the open, just for her. Clarke resisted the urge to shudder.

The girl's mouth was screwed up into something of a smirk, but when her gaze jumped from Clarke to Raven, it turned to a stunning grin, her dimple peeking out from her right cheek. Her chin jabbed in their direction, voice light and melodic. "Who're the scrubs?"

"Clarke, Monty, this is Octavia. Octavia, these are the new recruits," Raven said, and when Clarke turned to look, Raven's grin was just as spectacular as Octavia's.

"Thank _God_. Things have started getting boring around here," she groaned.

"Things are always boring," the boy said, sweeping a piece of hair from his face. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he popped up. "Dude, is that a  _Grounders_ t-shirt?" All attention turned to Monty.

"I - Yeah, it is. Do you play it?" he spoke from behind Clarke, a little unsure.

"Hell yeah! Beat it twice," the boy replied smugly.

"Really? That's so cool! I just beat it on expert a couple weeks ago."

"Seriously? That shit is  _impossible_."

Monty stepped forward and took a seat beside him. Without even the introduction of each other's names, they were off, talking in hurried and excited voices about gore effects, blood spatter, and their favorite weapon (Monty's was the Commander's sword; almost impossible to find unless you had some golden compass and -- well, she tuned out after that.)

Clarke watched with stupefied interest, and Octavia rolled her eyes. " _Boys_ ," Raven muttered, moving to sit beside Octavia. Waiting a moment, Clarke picked carefully through a few pieces of crumpled wrappers and sat above them on the highest bleacher. They both twisted in her direction, lounging comfortably.

The three of them chatted about nothing, the mood light-hearted. Quickly, she learned: the other boy's name was Jasper, and he was a senior. They all were. Octavia and Jasper had been at Arkton for a couple months, and this was, indeed, Raven's first day. Monty's, too. Their school was pretty small; it narrowed down to about eighty kids, give or take.

" _Eighty_?" Clarke sputtered, almost laughing.

"You get to know who's who around here pretty fast," Octavia drawled, nodding along with it.

"What about the classes?" Clarke said, and suddenly Octavia burst into laughter, hand held over her stomach. It was the kind that made everyone else want to laugh, too, and Raven chuckled to herself, giving Clarke a sympathetic look. It took Octavia a minute to collect herself, wiping tears from her eyes, but eventually she gave an ominous, "You'll see soon enough," through scattered giggles, which made Clarke grimace in a way that resulted in even more laughter. 

"What's so bad about them?" she asked. Clarke classified herself as a good student, mostly. She didn't love doing homework, or anything, but she liked learning, and she liked knowing that because of school, she'd be able to really make a difference some day. This place didn't seem the type to share her opinion.

Jasper looked away from Monty, cocked an eyebrow. "They're the educational version of a black hole. You walk in, and you never seem to come out. At least, not with your  _soul_." It sounded like a joke, but he looked deathly serious. Octavia nodded solemnly along with him, added, "It's true. Trust me."

"What a relief," Clarke muttered.

The conversation began to die down, except for Monty and Jasper, who talked in low voices. Clarke was just trying to soak in the last bits of sun before it disappeared behind the clouds again, and the warmth was heavenly against the damp chill of the wind.

"So, what did you in, Clarke?" Octavia asked nonchalantly, head tilted. "Swapping stories is the first part of initiation, so, I'll warn you now to keep interesting." Her grin was teasing, but Clarke's smile dropped from her face in a flash. And though she could still feel the sunshine on her face, boring down at her from the sky, violent cold shot itself up her spine. Sweat began to pool at the center of palms, and she couldn't seem to look either of them in the eye. She even swore she could see a shadow dart far across the horizon, molding into distant forest, but it was most likely her imagination. Hopefully.

She was trying not to remember it, not to let it overwhelm her, but there was no escape. It was a tsunami crashing into her skull, intent on being known, without mercy. A piercing scream, familiar, echoed faintly in her eardrums, like the blaring of a siren, and she remembered the scratchy feel of her throat for days after. She could feel the heat of a raging fire burn on her fingertips, the length of her nose. Her cheeks flushed pink with it. If she really tried, she could even hear Wells struggling behind her, arms an unbreakable cage, shouting,  _You can't, you can't!_  And from the corner of her eye, more shadows, squirming and quivering in the crisp night air of that day. They  _whooshed_ to the sound of crackling flames, and she thought they might one day dance on her grave.

Clarke had seen them her whole life. They came when they wanted to, infected every part of the room with ice and chill. They had no shape, really; they morphed and changed, one eternally moving blob of pure darkness. When her childhood cat died, they hung around for days, clinging to the walls and watching her at night. After her third grade teacher committed suicide, they darted from tree to tree during her funeral, and Clarke watched them in utter silence. Terrified. Not understanding why others couldn't see them. The noise became so unbearable she ran off crying, hands pressed to her ears.

One day, she'd been walking downtown with her mother when she saw a bundle of them, creeping along the wall of a shop. "Mommy, mommy, they're here! Something _bad's_ going to happen," Clarke had whispered, pulling at Abby's sleeve. Two minutes later, a woman was hit by a car and killed, right in front of their eyes.

That was the first time her mother looked at her like she was something to be feared.

New glasses. Hearing tests. Therapy. Medication. Changed schools, different towns. None of it worked. She was crazy, it seemed; doomed to see things no one else could see.

At 13, her then-psychiatrist bent down to her height, gave her a lopsided smile full of artifice. He promised it would all stop if she just admitted that what she saw wasn't real, that it was all made up. And though she sniffed at the thought of allowing him to be right in anything, it was unbearable to think of the things that awaited her if she told the truth. She was sick of being poked and prodded at like a freak. She was sick of spitting out medication because taking it made her loopy, drowsy -- not herself. She was sick of disappointing her parents, not being the same as everyone else.

When she spoke, her voice broken, he patted her on the head like a child, sent her away with a bill for $2,000 and a single slip of paper that her pronounced her to be "mentally competent." Jackass.

_They're not real._

Years passed, and they were her darkest secret. They never left, never failed to come. She wasn't sure what dictated their arrival and departure, but sometimes they'd be gone for months, and others it seemed they'd pop up almost every other day. Yet, her life was... _normal_. She passed into a prestigious academy for exemplary high school students, and began to realize her love of medicine. Her grades were stellar; she had good friends, a kind boyfriend. People trusted her, came to her for advice, depended on her. She was  _that_ person. They knew she was good, down to her core, and she tried to believe them despite of the things she saw.

But then --

Things changed. And she became the one to hurt, not heal.

"I steal a lot," Monty offered, and everyone turned, eyebrows raised. "-  _What_?" he protested. "It's true!" With a grumble, he reached his hand down into his pocket and pulled out the Swiss Army knife Raven had surrendered to Coach Anya. Her grin widened.

"No way. How'd you do that?" she asked, snatching it up.

"Lots of practice, I guess. People aren't very observant."

That brought back the laughter, in which Clarke's was half-hearted, nervous. Monty had given her a way out, but she imagined she couldn't keep her secret forever. She could sure as hell try, though.

It was Raven who caught her gaze for a moment, careful, before tilting her head and nodding. Next to them, Octavia groaned. "We probably should go to class."

"I vote no," Raven offered hopefully.

"Ray, it's your _first day_. You're not skipping," Octavia said. Clarke imagined that Raven's answering sigh could be heard from a mile away.

"Yeah, you're right, Octavia. We shouldn't be late," Monty said with a jerky nod. Jasper muttered something under his breath, as did Raven, but they both stood and started down the bleachers. Clarke trailed along behind them, trying to alleviate some of the pressure in her head. It throbbed along with her heart beat, each thump a little weaker than the next.

As they approached the front entrance, they noticed a number of students milling about, hanging off concrete rails and walking down the beaten cobblestone paths. A group of girls with spiky hair and worn leather jackets clustered together in the shadows, laughing obnoxiously. The same tattooed couple they'd seen earlier now wandered the expanse of the courtyard, and she noted their matching pierced lips. And eyebrows. And ears.

"Olivia and Glen. Notice, please, the beautiful wristbands they get to where," Jasper whispered. She squinted, and sure enough, a red light pulsed back, just as the cameras had. The things were clunky, metal, and she imagined they'd be heavy to lug around all day. A frown started to pull at her lips. "What are they for?"

"They keep track of the  _real_ psychos in here," Octavia joined in, giggling, but Clarke's frown only deepened.

"What'd they do?"

"Oh, you've got no idea," Jasper laughed, "I mean, half of us are here because we did something dumb and the state didn't have anywhere else to put us. But the other half?" His head jerked back toward the peculiar couple, that mischievous smirk planted firmly on his face. "They're in here for the worst kind of stuff. Arson, robbery, kidnapping.  _Murder_." His voice stooped low, chilling. Monty muttered something under his breath about getting a taser. Clarke just turned to look back in their direction, but they were already gone. _  
_

"Shut it, Jas. You're gonna scare them away before we even get a chance to  _show_ them anything," Octavia groaned, hitting him lightly in the shoulder.

"I'm not scared," Clarke scoffed. 

" _Suuuuure_ you're not, Griffin," Raven said, her smile both teasing and smug. Clarke made a face.

"Look, let's get inside. I don't want to be late," Monty said quickly. There was a mumble of agreement, and they started to move up the stairs along with the rest of the student body.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a flash of blue sticking out from the sea of black. Instinctively, she turned, and something like electricity crackled at the base of her throat.

A boy wore a jacket with patches of blue at the shoulders, and it tightened against the swell of his arms, flexing with them. It practically screamed  _dress code violation_ , but her eyes drew away from it to study his face. She couldn't look away. He was laughing loudly, carelessly, and she noticed a smattering of freckles across his nose, his cheeks. They were constellations on his face, beautiful to look at, and her fingers twitched, as if aching to touch every single one of them. The urge was so strong she gasped noiselessly, quickly clasped her hands together. As if drawn by her movement, he looked at her. His laughter ceased abruptly, like lifting the needle on a record, and the electricity doubled, stretching from her toes to the very top of her head.

His lips parted slightly, dark eyes pulling her in, and unreadable emotion swam in the depths of them. She was captivated. She realized she was even _smiling_ , big and wide, like a fucking idiot. But he just smiled back, brilliantly, and her gaze followed the curve of his lips. Every detail of him mattered, like a map she had been destined to memorize, and she had to forcibly quell the desire to walk over there and wrap herself around him, explore the parts she couldn't see. She could even swear she had a  _memory_ of doing so before. Kissing. Touching. Her breath caught.

This was insane. She'd never -- she didn't even _know_ him. Sure, she was surrounded by crazy people, but - these instincts were insane. Psychotic.

As Clarke raised her hand to brush away a piece of hair, intensely and embarrassingly disconcerted, he raised his own at the same time, and they both grinned again. As if to wave, he held it in front of him, the back of his palm facing her, and -

\- he flipped her off.

She inhaled sharply, briskly, and whipped back around in one swift movement. At a quick glance, she saw everyone but Octavia was gone, and it looked like she'd seen the whole exchange; her eyes were narrow slits, glare directed at the space where the boy stood.

"Sorry about him. He can be a total ass sometimes," Octavia said.

Her only question: "Who is he?" asked through gritted teeth.  _Don't look back. Don't look back._

"Bellamy Blake," she replied. Her voice had a certain edge to it that Clarke couldn't place. "He's my brother."

Fingernails dug into the flesh of her palm, just so she could focus on something else. Anything else. She couldn't even bother to answer. She needed to - to process, to comprehend. She needed to get away from whatever  _this_  was. But as she jogged hastily up the stairs, it was impossible not to glance back behind her, like gravity had suddenly shifted from the center of the universe into his very being.

His face was blank, no longer wide-eyed and vulnerable as it had seemed only a few moments before. Yet, she swore that he watched her go, his gaze burning holes in her back so bad the flames touched her heart.


	2. lahash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some casual ableist language. also, this hasn't been looked over by anyone but me, so apologies for any mistakes!! this is a mess and it's been months but here i am

* * *

  

_ & when they cast him from heaven, lahash bore seventy marks on his holy flesh from the fire in which they whipped him -- a reminder that god's will was absolute, and to interfere with its divinity was a sin unforgivable. _

  

* * *

 

She followed the line of a jaw with her pencil, accentuating the curve of it against the margin line of the paper. It finished off the crude half of a face, where the lips lay smudged and the eyes roughly outlined. Even so, something about it was pleasantly familiar, like puzzle pieces coming together on the first try. Her hand moved nearly on its own accord, sketching mindlessly against spare edges as her attention wandered.

Someone snored softly next to her, and the corners of her mouth twitched, struggling between a smile and a grimace. Glancing over, Clarke saw a pool of saliva gathering on the girl’s desk, and she bit her lip hard as a chuckle worked its way to the surface. Really, she couldn’t blame them. Calculus was bad enough without Arkton being so excruciatingly dull — even more so than she’d imagined.

Oh,  _lucky_  day.

Their teacher, the ever-monotone Mr. Miller, droned on in front of the class, voice warm like a cocoon and words dull as a butter knife. Logarithms and exponential functions explained in his slow drawl left her eyes drooping two minutes in, and the fact that Clarke had held out so long was a miracle. With a resigned sigh, she turned back to her drawing, making amends with the fact that achieving an A was going to be hell. As if the place weren’t already hellish enough.

Clarke quietly contemplated her sketch again, pencil poised above it absentmindedly. There was something off about the eyes. Too wide? Too angry? The color was supposed to be brown, she thought, but pencil lead made them bitter and resentful, staring back up at her vehemently. She  _could_  erase them and start over, but they didn’t exactly need to be redone, just —

A paper plane suddenly glided onto her desk, edges crisp and expertly folded. Clarke startled in her seat, gaze darting across the room to see if anyone noticed. Mr. Miller was oblivious ( _shocker_ ), and it didn’t seem like anyone else cared; half the class had fallen asleep by now, cheeks smushed into their hand, and the other half gazed solemnly off into space -- most likely contemplating escape routes. 

Fingers nimbly disentangled the message from its messenger as she spared one more cursory glance around, eyes finally darting down to skim the note.

_what did we tell you? soul sucking._

_\- o_

A tiny smile worked its way onto Clarke's face. But just as she went to reply, scrawling something about black holes and embracing the void, another landed square in the middle of her lap. This time, she worked faster at unraveling, attention caught between it and Mr. Miller’s unsuspecting gaze. They really needed to talk about subtlety. 

_careful where you aim. some people around here get a little grabby._

_p.s. practice your folding. skill comes in handy around here_

Nodding, she scratched the back of her neck, teeth working at her bottom lip.

As she dutifully tried to replicate Octavia's handiwork with her own paper plane, Clarke weighed the idea of asking Octavia about her brother. If she was going to bring up the exchange, it had to be soon — waiting a week meant that Clarke had been thinking about it that long, and she was certainly not interested in wasting any more effort on the matter.

Yet somehow, she kept coming right back to it. His smile, the spark still crackling at the base of her spine, the burn as his eyes bore straight into her back. Clarke needed to know more, about him, about his past, about --

She shook her head, teeth sinking harder into her bottom lip. No. No, she was not going to humor him, and she wasn’t going to let Octavia think she had some kind of infatuation or something. It was still Clarke's first day, and the last thing she needed was for her first few friends to think she was a total freak.

Well, freakish beyond Arkton-standard freakiness. 

Unsatisfied and unwilling to admit defeat, she folded the note away and looked up to see Mr. Miller scribbling something on the chalkboard. When he turned back to face them, a warm smile had replaced his tired frown, and he boomed heartily, "Alright, class! I want you to pair up in groups of two for our next reading assignment. We'll be discussing some of the themes we learned about in Hamlet and compare them to what we've read about so far in Othello. I expect you all to choose wisely!"

A groan resonated throughout the room, and Clarke’s face suddenly contorted in horror as she scrambled for her schedule. She'd briefly glanced at it before, just to confirm the whereabouts of her first class as Octavia shoved her down the hallway. Now, her eyes bulged, lips parted in shock.

From 7:45 to 11:15, it read, she had math, communication arts, and science -- all with Mr. Miller, and all in the same room. How was that  _possible_?

She turned to glance back at Octavia, who'd stood from her seat and now hovered at Raven's desk. They both shot her a sympathetic look as they gauged her reaction, though Raven's eyes turned decidedly hostile as they focused on something behind Clarke.

She turned just in time to see Finn walking her way, his smile both brilliant and she dashing. She tried not to grin back dumbly as slid into the empty chair beside her.

"It's Clarke, right?" he said. Nervously, she started to fold up the note in her hands, each crease precise and carefully made.

"How'd you know?" she managed to answer, voice dry, and he chuckled.

"Lucky guess." He bent over, elbows resting on the surface of her desk (noticeably covering the  _fuk u_  carved into the corner). Simultaneously, Clarke angled back, trying to keep both her personal space and her concentration intact. 

Finn continued on, unabashed. "I saw that those two over there had already paired up --" and Clarke glanced back over at Octavia and Raven, both of which seemed to be staring in Finn's direction with varying degrees of emotion "-- and thought maybe we could work together. New kids gotta stick together, right?"

"The assignment covers material from the  _previous_  half of the semester. Not sure the two new kids pairing up would be a good idea," she pointed out, tilting her head. “Unless you’re not new here, that is."

His eyes narrowed fractionally, though his tone stayed light. “How’d you know? Is someone, I daresay, gossiping about me?" Finn asked, comically dramatic, but the corners of his mouth had tightened. She noticed his gaze shift in Raven's direction.

Backpedaling, Clarke briskly replied, "No. But considering the way you and Coach Anya were arguing, it wasn't too hard to figure out."

His face warmed again. "Ah, she's all bark and no bite.”

He smiled at that, laughed a little, and it was the kind of laugh that made her follow suit. But beneath her amusement, Clarke stilted, appraising the tension between him and Raven.

She didn’t get it. Raven was funny, smart, clever; Finn was charming, good-humored, and just…  _pleasant_. Sure, she wasn’t privy to every deep, dark secret they possessed, but she considered herself a pretty good judge of character — and both of them had failed to signal any warning bells.

What were they hiding?

"I'll keep… the offer in mind," Clarke finally replied, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Finn watched her for a moment, brown eyes soft and inviting. "And to think I didn't want to come back to this place."

Clarke paused, scoffed to avoid an eye roll. Forward, then. And unashamed of it.

He seemed to take the pause as an invitation. "Look, how would you feel if I showed you around later? I've been around the block a few times, and I bet my tour of the campus beats out Anya's any day," Finn suggested.

Before she could consider answer, a hand clapped down hard on her shoulder as Octavia's voice sounded firmly from behind her. "Sorry, Finn, but we've already called dibs."

Octavia was riding a fine line between protective and possessive, but Finn spoke before Clarke could, venom undermining his dim smile. "Dibs? My bad. I thought she was a human being, not the shotgun of a car," he answered, voice sickly sweet.

"You're one to talk," and this quip came from Raven. Clarke frowned, brushed off the hand off and turned awkwardly. Just as she opened her mouth again, trying to object on both parties’ behalf, Mr. Miller interjected with excited talk of Shakespeare and Herman Melville and Charles Dickens. As the class scrambled for their seats, Clarke sighed in relief. Not only could she avoid dealing with whatever hissy fit all three of them had started to pull, it looked like the next hour wouldn't be as torturous as the first. She actually  _liked_  classic literature.

When she caught Finn's eye a moment later, curious and a little flattered, he winked again, pointing at her desk. Examining the spot showed a small slip of paper she hadn't noticed before, with a big #39 written in thick marker on one side. Furrowing her eyebrows, Clarke turned back to him, and he mouthed the word  _room_.

She just shook her head back, half-amused and half-dismayed. Maybe she should ask Mr. Miller to work alone.

* * *

 

"That was..." Monty trailed off, looking haunted.

"Terrible? Godless? Created to turn the minds of the masses into shapeless mush?" Octavia suggested.

"Yeah. That's about it," he answered, shivering to himself and clutching his textbooks tighter.

They strolled slowly down the hallway, filled with pent-up energy and gnawing hunger. Raven had bolted ahead a little while ago, calling back something about small bladders and too many water bottles, and the three of them now complained quietly between themselves. Monty looked beaten down beside them, sweat beading at the top of his forehead and mouth set in a grim line. Octavia just looked amused.

"It wasn't all bad. I like Shakespeare," Clarke added from the side.

"Sure, but you didn't have to learn it from Mrs. Foxworth," Monty said.

"Hah! You got stuck with Foxworth? Good luck, kid," Octavia snorted, patting his shoulder sympathetically. His body drooped closer to the floor.

Abruptly, someone knocked hard into her shoulder, nearly sending her flying across the hallway. Before she could, however, an arm wrapped around her waist, and she managed to steady herself enough to regain her footing. Glancing up, Clarke saw it was Finn who had caught her (and presumably knocked her over). He muttered an apology under his breath, grinned slyly before darting down the hall, and she briefly wondered if he’d done it on purpose. Clarke figured he wasn’t that childish, but really, it was toss-up.

With a scoff, they kept walking, and she did her best to ignore the look Octavia was sending her way. It wasn't as if she didn't appreciate Octavia taking her in, but she wasn't going to let anyone dictate her life. Whether she talked to Finn or not was her business. And maybe if they bothered to give her a straight answer about why she shouldn't, she'd reconsider. But Finn was a valuable asset in a place like this, and she wasn't going to start taking sides unless she had a good reason.

"- Clarke?" Monty said, and she blinked, frowned in confusion.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t hear you."

"I asked if you wanted to partner up for that history project? Mrs. Foxworth said it was okay if we paired with someone in another class."

"I haven't had history yet. What's the project?"

"We're supposed to pick an aspect of biblical lore and research it. I figured we could keep it simple and just, write a paper over it or something, if that's cool with you?"

She smiled. Monty, at least, wasn't hard to figure out. "Sounds good to me."

"Awesome! When you do you want to --"

"Okay, can we please not talk about school right now? This is supposed to be our break from the terrible, godless classes," Octavia groaned, raising her eyebrows.

Clarke smiled again, murmuring to Monty, "We'll meet up later to talk about it, okay?"

Just as he nodded back at her, they reached the entrance of the lunch room, where a chaotic roar of voices rushed at them. Blinking a few times before examining the room, Clarke noted it was big enough to fit the school’s population but small enough that everything felt crowded, hot.

Octavia took a cursory glance around before heading towards a table in the far back. The two of them trailed behind and peeked around Octavia to see Raven sitting alone, absentmindedly playing with the Swiss Army knife Monty had reclaimed. Octavia slid in next to her.

"Might want to be a little more subtle with that thing," Octavia said, eyeing the blur of Raven's hands as they worked.

"I prefer to live wild," Raven replied, grinning deviously at them. Octavia rolled her eyes, but something of a smile played on her lips.

“What about if you get a detention?” Monty said.

“Graveyard clean-up is pretty brutal, Reyes,” Octavia added.

Clarke groaned as she sat down. “Please tell me that’s not actually a thing.”

“Oh, you bet it is, Griffin. Who else do you think is going to take care of the dead?” Raven said.

“That’s morbid,” Clarke responded, face twisting up in a grimace.

Octavia laughed. “Damn right it is. That’s what Arkton excels in: morbidity and godlessness.”

“We should be on their publicity team, O. Got lots of real interesting ideas to bring to the table, don’t you think?”

“I  _knew_  we kept you around for a reason, Reyes.”

With a small smile on her face, Clarke shook her head, knocking her knuckles impatiently against scarred wood. “Anyone up to actually get lunch? I’m starving."

“I’ll pass. I’ve got a lot of Shakespeare to read by next week and not a lot of time," Monty said.

"I'll stay here with Short Stuff. Make sure he doesn't implode with iambic pentameter," Octavia teased, and Monty groaned.

"Is Short Stuff really going to be a  _thing_?" he asked, and as they started to bicker, Raven took Clarke's arm and pulled her away. 

Raven shook her head solemnly. “Kids. Can’t love ‘em, can’t live without ‘em,” she said dryly, making Clarke chuckle. However, they both lost the joke and groaned loudly when they saw the slow-moving mass of bodies all headed towards the same goal — food.

The line trickled ever-so tantalizingly into the cafeteria as they waited. Raven would mutter a few choice words every time someone accidentally bumped into her or tried to cut ahead, and soon had a frown permanently drawn on her mouth.

“Is it like this every day?” Clarke asked above the roar.

“Just another perk of Arkton,” Raven replied darkly.

With a sigh, Clarke turned towards the clutter of tables and students, eyes staying far away from suspicious dark corners. All she had to do was keep her mind occupied. No shuddering dark masses and no mothers meant no problems.

She gazed around the mass of students, counting backwards in her head from 100 as her eyes landed on a lonely table, occupied only by two boys and their bare lunch trays. One of them she recognized as Jasper, still dangerously beautiful and equally unexplainable as he bent inwards toward the table. The other boy faced away from her, hunched defensively away from the crowd, but there was a nostalgic feeling to it, like - like she’d passed him once on a street and forgotten the encounter until just now.

The pair had their heads bowed slightly as they talked, and there was potent familiarity in their stance, the way they gravitated toward each other so easily. She’d assumed that Jasper was more of a loner-by-choice type, but at this point she’d already seen him fraternizing with two different groups at Arkton — a feat not easily pulled off, she was realizing.

Losing interest, Clarke was a second away from moving on when the boy angled her way, his face now half-revelead to her.

Bellamy.

Her jaw dropped a little, and it took a long pause for her to close it again, teeth knocking with a click. 

Him and  _Jasper_  were friends now, too? Not only that, but the kind of friends that sit together at lunch and talk seriously underneath their breaths? Were they talking about  _her_?

As soon as that question popped into her head, she frowned, pushed it away. She was too paranoid. Of course they weren't talking about her; Jasper barely knew her, and Bellamy didn't know her at all. Or like her. Still, she was too captivated and too curious to look away, eyes trained stubbornly on Bellamy. He looked troubled from what she could see, his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed. 

Briefly, she imagined his arms around her, the image like a quiet dream above unquiet reality. It'd be as natural as breathing, she knew, as easy as falling asleep.

It was so vivid she had to blink a few times to force the thought out of her system. God, she  _was_  crazy. Hallucinating crazy. Arkton Academy crazy.

Red spread hot on her cheeks, but just as she went to turn away, Jasper met her gaze. There was a quick beat, a moment of recognition before he waved at her daintily with three fingers, a wide grin spreading across his face. His hand then shot up to his forehead, and he pretended to swoon, shimmying back and forth. 

She coughed out a hard laugh before swiveling back toward Raven quickly. She hadn't noticed the exchange, it looked like, but she did raise an eyebrow at Clarke's expression.

"Why are people at this school so weird?" Clarke said with a bit of dismay.

Raven shrugged. "Think I know?"

Soon, they approached the small array of food, and Clarke's stomach moaned in response. Both of the boys decidedly filed somewhere the back of her head, she reached to pile some spaghetti onto her plate, but Raven just shook her head and pushed Clarke forward.

"I wanted--" she started to protest.

"Trust me, I've heard most of what's what around here. Spaghetti is a no. Meatloaf is  _definitely_  a no," Raven added as they passed by some mysterious-looking substance coated in grey mush. "Turkey sandwiches, salad, and pizza are good. The fries are fine, depending on the day."

Reluctantly, Clarke grabbed at a pre-made bowl of salad, eyeing the spaghetti from the checkout line. Clicking her tongue, Raven stepped out behind her. "You'll thank me later, Griffin.”

With one last grumble, Clarke consented, forking over a few dollars to a bored-looking lunch day. Her official lunch account wouldn't be up and running until tomorrow, and that meant giving up the last bit of money she had to her name. Perfect.

Seeing that Raven had already headed back, she began walking toward their table, staring glumly down at her mediocre pickings. It was in her disappointment that she didn't notice a large figure block her path, unmoving as she ran right into his chest. With a loud oof, she stumbled back, her salad clattering to the floor. Startled, Clarke glanced up at the offender.

He was tall, even with his shoulders hunched over as they were, and he stared at her unabashedly, unafraid. His eyes were dark blue, swimming with ill-intentions, and Clarke could feel her lip curling into a snarl.

"Ex _cuse_  me," she griped, but it was a different voice that replied somewhere from behind her.

"Wanna watch where you're going, newbie?"

Spinning on her heels, Clarke squinted her eyes at a scrawly-looking boy. Open disgust pressed into the frown lines of his face, and his eyes narrowed back at her. His body read like a challenge, tension in the flex of his muscles.

"He stepped out in front of me," she finally answered, her lips pursed.

"Well, it  _looked_  like you were in the way of my friend here. Right, Dax?" he asked. His voice coiled around her like a snake, slick and oily.

"That's right, Murphy," Dax answered from beside her, suddenly very close, but she didn't dare back away. She wasn't going to allow herself to be intimidated.

"I wasn't in the way of anybody," Clarke growled. Her fists clenched, knuckles white, and Murphy glanced at them. He chuckled darkly.

"Sure you weren't,  _Clarke_ ," he spat.

She squinted, licked her lips. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two, and she kept her stance tense, ready. "How do you know my name?"

"Lucky guess," and his words were like an echo of Finn's. It took her a little by surprise, the thought of them having any similarity to Finn, and one second was all it took. 

Dax pounced, pushed her hard, and she flew onto the floor with a resounding smack. Quickly, she managed to scramble to her feet, but not before Murphy could land a decent kick to her side. She let out a pained wheeze, her ribs now groaning with the effort, but she kept her footing. Solid, like her dad taught her. Hands up in front of her face.

"Hey!" Clarke heard a familiar voice shout, and Octavia was suddenly right in the middle of it, standing protectively in front of Clarke. The two boys grimaced.

"Octavia,  _stop_  -" Clarke groaned, pulling at her arm, but Octavia just waved her off. In the corner of her eye, Clarke could also see Raven and Monty feeding into the circle of kids that had started to form around them, murmuring excitedly. Their friends had contrasting faces of horror among the crowd.

"Yeah, Octavia. Let the big kids talk," Murphy snarked.

She swore she could hear Octavia growl, but just as she went to pounce, all three began to jerk violently, aggressively. Clarke caught Octavia just as she sunk to the ground, seizing in her arms. After a beat, her body stilled, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Raven parted from the mass and darted to their side, calling at Monty to get help. Octavia grinned weakly up at them, shaking her head.

"Damn. First time shock collar's got me," Octavia said. Clarke frowned, and as her gaze traveled downward, she noticed a metal device bound peeking behind Octavia's pant leg. A red light pulsed back at her -- just like Olivia and Glen's.

Her eyes widened, darted to meet Raven's. Raven said nothing, didn't even meet Clarke's eyes, but she caught the subtle nod of Raven's head. Simultaneously, Octavia twitched feebly in their arms, and Clarke realized the thing was still shocking her. She opened her mouth in a mix of disbelief and horror.

"Alright, alright, break it up!” Anya barked, and she turned to see Coach coming up from the rear. It was the first time today Clarke was actually glad to see her, which she figured would be a feeling short-lived.

One look at the huddled group, and Coach made a nasty face, shaking her head slightly. "I don't know  _what_  happened here, but you, you, you, you, and  _you_  -" she jabbed an accusing finger at each of them, crooking it as she finally landed on Clarke "- get to spend your Saturday morning in the cemetery with me, crack of dawn."

Ignoring the noise of protest and looking down at Octavia, Anya's gaze softened a little, regret briefly replacing her annoyance. "I got her, girls. Gotta get that thing turned off."

She was gentle as she pulled Octavia from the ground, slinging an arm around her waist and helping her limp out of the cafeteria. Two of the lunch ladies aided in getting Dax and Murphy up, and they trailed behind Coach, struggling to support their respective delinquent. Murphy made sure to wink faintly at Clarke before he was completely out of sight, head lolling against his shoulder. Bile rose up in her throat, but she choked it back down, nostrils flaring. She'd already given them enough satisfaction.

As the crowd started to disperse, Clarke stood and inhaled sharply. Her side ached from where Murphy had kicked it. Raven glanced at her, voice a little distant. "You good?"

"Yeah. Assholes fucking jumped me," she growled.

"I saw that. I mean, one minute you're right behind me, and the next you're on the ground getting pummeled."

"I wasn't getting pummeled."

"Please. They had you down in two seconds flat."

"Because I got caught off guard!" Clarke said.

"Whatever, Griffin," Raven scoffed.

Shaking her head, Clarke turned to watch as the last stragglers of the crowd drifted away. In the back of it, she could just make out Bellamy and Jasper hanging near the edge of the room. Jasper was holding on tightly to Bellamy's arm, and his lips moved rapidly, though she couldn't make out what was being said. Bellamy was looking straight down the hallway, where Octavia and the two boys had been led down, but he turned to answer, face contorted in rage. When he glanced up, his eyes met Clarke's, and they narrowed to a squint.

The anger in them was sharp, focused: all directed right at Clarke. She pulled in a breath so fast it hurt and averted her eyes, clutched harder at her side. He could've slapped her and it would've had about the same effect. Wetness threatened her vision and simmered at the surface of her composure, and she ground her teeth hard.

Un-fucking-believable. She hadn't shed a single tear the whole goddamned time, hadn't even gotten close, but one look from Bellamy and she felt like she was going to burst.

Flustered, upset, she wheezed out a hast excuse to Raven before fleeing, feet hitting tile like stray bullets. This time, she didn't look back.

* * *

 

Bolting into her last class a minute late with the wrong textbook (thanks, dear office aid) just about summed up her day. Really. She must have been been running on some sort of luck deficiency, if she had any left at all. Foxworth was going to ream her to next Tuesday.

Bracing herself as she walked in, she expected the worst — a dunce cap, maybe? A month’s worth of detentions? Death by inhaling chalkboard fumes?

Hovering at the entrance, she checked Foxworth’s desk and found it surprisingly empty. Maybe all luck wasn’t dead yet.

None of the other students even bothered to glance her way, which was an unexpected plus. They looked to be capitalizing every second of their extended passing period; one drag of a cigarette here, the conspicuous swig of an unlabeled drink there. She wondered briefly how the hell they managed to get their hands on the stuff, and how they avoided getting  _caught_ , but Clarke's attention was suddenly pulled elsewhere.

Drawing her attention, she saw Bellamy sitting rigidly in the back row, scrawling something in his notebook. She wasn't sure how she'd missed him before, or the fact that the only empty seat happened to be right next him, but she sure noticed him now. Adrenaline shot up violently from her toes, tingled at the ends of fingertips.

_Jesus, Griffin, get it together_ , she thought, trying to quench the quickened pace of her breath. This was pathetic. He was just a boy, it was just a seat, and this was just the last class she had to suffer through. Nothing more.

As nonchalantly as she could, Clarke moved toward the desk, quietly sitting down. 

It was then that Mrs. Foxworth barged in, looking even more frazzled than Clarke had. With an angry  _harrumph_  she set her things down at her desk, putting her hands on her hips. 

"I had to spend twenty minutes in the nurse's office helping turn those darned cuffs off. I can't fathom how..." Mrs. Foxworth trailed off, shaking her head.

From the corner of her eye, Clarke saw Bellamy go completely stiff, pen unmoving. Anger shimmered beneath the surface of his composure. It was so strong, she wanted to flinch back, but she kept her cool. No need to give him any more reason to glare.

"Never you mind," Mrs. Foxworth said, dismissing her earlier thought. "Today, we'll be continuing our discussion of Lucifer's rise to power.” 

Someone groaned loudly in response while Clarke wrinkled her nose, suppressing an eye roll. She'd forgotten exactly what class she was in: religion. Or, otherwise known as an hour of listening to shit she didn't believe in, didn't care about, and had been raised to avoid at all costs. 

Mrs. Foxworth's head cocked to the side in response, eyes squinting at the culprit. 

"If someone has a problem with the way I run my classroom, you're more than welcome to spend the day in Principal Jaha's office,” she said.

The class snickered in response, started low conversations between themselves, but Clarke froze.

Jaha. That was -- but... it wasn't possible. Wells' father taught at their high school back in California. He couldn't have --

"Settle down, class!" Mrs. Foxworth snapped, her voice stern. The noise started to die down, but Clarke was left with her mouth hanging open. The words new beginning echoed in her ears all over again, and queasiness settled over her like a disease.

No. No  _fucking_  way Jaha worked at Arkton. It was just a coincidence, some - some guy with the same last name. That was it. That had to be it.

With a huff, Clarke pushed her doubts out of her head and struggled to listen to Mrs. Foxworth, who'd begun the lesson with far too much enthusiasm. As the projector in the back of the room flickered to life, an image of horned nymphs and screaming sinners splayed across the board. Above of them were hideous, winged creatures, their teeth sharp and pointed, their fingers equipped with talons.

"The first angels that fell with Satan were created into demons. They served as his servants, spreading chaos, death, and disease throughout humanity."

When her gaze wandered over to Bellamy again, she was startled to see he was watching her. Clarke paused, eyes locking with his. Neither seemed willing to back down first.

"What?" she finally hissed, annoyance laced in the word. She'd had enough hostility and surprises to last her a lifetime, let alone the rest of the day. However, a smirk tugged at his mouth - not at all what she expected - and Clarke's eyebrows shot up.

"Easy, princess," he scoffed before turning away, leaning back in his chair.

"So you're acknowledging my existence now?" she said. She sounded satisfyingly put together.

"Just wondering why you're here," Bellamy quipped.

Shaking her head, she pulled away as he did, laid her cheek in her palm. Under her breath, Clarke muttered, "Me too."


End file.
